Warcry (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

HEATH ALMOST REGRETTED THE BLOW BEFORE HE swung.

Almost. The crunch of bone under his knuckles was too satisfying to have regrets. And watching Lanfer’s eyes roll up into his head as he collapsed in a boneless heap—that was perfect. But the looks on the faces of the Plains warriors around him told Heath they’d not let him forget this for a long time to come. All his talk of restraint and patience . . . and he swung the first blow.

More than worth it, though.

Until Lara emerged from her tent.

She was wrapped in Keir’s cloak, her curly brown hair floating in a cloud around her head. Keir was just behind her. Heath winced inside, anticipating her response. The old Lara would have rushed to aid Lanfer while scolding Heath up one side and down the other.

To Heath’s relief, Lara just lifted an eyebrow, then looked around, her gaze coming to rest on him. They both must have heard the insult through the walls of the tent. Heath gave her a slight nod, accepting responsibility. Keir caught the look as well. They both kept their faces straight, watching as Lanfer’s escort picked him up off the ground.

Keir took Lara’s elbow and escorted her the few steps to a stool nearby. His face was neutral, but Heath knew the man well enough to see the understanding twinkle in his eyes.

Lara sat and arranged her cloak over her belly. Keir took a position behind her, crossing his arms over his chest. The man looked imposing with his armor and two swords strapped to his back.

Lanfer’s escort had him back on his feet, and it looked like he was recovering his wits. He was holding his nose, blood dripping on his fancy doublet.

“Marcus,” Lara said. “A cloth for the gentleman.”

Marcus looked none too happy as he provided a rag and some water for Lanfer to use. Lanfer was none too pleased to accept it, since the cloth looked like it had seen better days. But he held it pressed up to his nose for a moment before he dabbed at his clothing.

“You are Lord Enali’s son, I believe,” Lara said.

Lanfer looked up at that, and his eyes widened. Heath couldn’t blame him for that. In Xy, extremely pregnant women withdrew from society in the months before the birth. It was rare to see a woman with such a belly, and Lara was huge with child.

Lara let him stare for a moment, then she raised her eyebrow again and extended her hand with a patient air.

Heath stifled his grin, but he had to give Lanfer credit. The man didn’t hesitate. He advanced, went to one knee before Lara, and took her hand. He bowed his head, looking every inch as if he was in the throne room. “I am, Your Majesty. I am Lanfer. Please forgive me. I did not expect such a welcome.”

“You offered insult to a Plains warrior,” Lara said. “Consider yourself lucky that you don’t have a sword in your guts.” She withdrew her hand, and Lanfer rose with an easy grace. “I was told you have a message for me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. From your Council.” Lanfer stood, eyeing Keir, a faintly puzzled look on his face.

Heath knew why. Lara had just required him to acknowledge her as Queen, but had not made an issue of Keir’s status as Overlord. Just as well. They faced enough of a challenge without forcing the Xyian nobility to bow to one of the dreaded Firelanders.

Lara still had a patient look on her face. “May I have it?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Your Majesty, the news I bring is of events that occurred yesterday. I regret to inform you that Lord Othur, Warden of Xy collapsed while holding a Queen’s Justice.”

Heath stiffened. His father . . . ill?

Lara sucked in a breath. “How is he?”

“He lies in his chambers, Majesty, tended by Master Healer Eln.” Lanfer had a pious look on his face. “The Council fears for his life. Lord Othur has worked night and day in your absence, dealing with the worries and matters of state.”

Heath’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. The tone, the manner—the bastard was implying that Lara had neglected her duties as Queen. He forced his hand to ease off, even as he worried about his father. His father was not a young man, and he was fond of his wife’s excellent cooking. But to collapse?

“Is there any sign of treachery?” Keir asked.

“No,” Lanfer responded. Then he faltered as Lara’s light blue eyes burned into him. “No, Warlord.” Lanfer managed to regain a bit of poise. “He was surrounded by the Guard at the time. The castle throne room was filled with people seeking resolutions to their problems. Lord Othur was in the middle of hearing testimony when he clutched at his chest and fell back into his chair.”

“Were his lips blue?” Lara asked sharply.

“Your Majesty, I was not present at the Justice.” Lanfer shook his head, as if deeply grieved that he had failed her. “I am unable to supply any details.”

That was deliberate on Lanfer’s part, to Heath’s way of thinking. The smug bastard was standing there, talking about Heath’s father without so much as looking at Heath.

Lara’s face was pale, and she glanced at Heath, then back at Lanfer. Heath’s mother and father were as dear to her as they were to him, but she was refusing to rise to Lanfer’s bait.

Heath crossed his arms over his chest in grim determination. Who knew that for all their adventures, they would face greater challenges from their friends than from their foes?

Lara raised her chin imperiously. “I thank you for your message, Lanfer. You may return to the Council with my thanks for their care of me.”

“Your Majesty,” Lanfer bowed to her. “The Council will wish to know when you will arrive at Water’s Fall.”

“Tell them that the Warlord and I will arrive at the gates sometime tomorrow.” Lara reached out her hands, and both Keir and Marcus pulled her up off the stool. “Late afternoon, I would expect.”

“Your Majesty,” Lanfer bowed again and started to back away, clearly heading for his horse.

“Warprize.” Atira stepped forward, speaking in Xyian. “There is still the matter of the insult to my person.”

Heath jerked his head around. Atira was standing there, one hand on her hip, the other on the hilt of her sword. Her blond hair gleamed in the sun as she gave Lanfer a considering look. With the brown of her leather armor and the shine of her weapons, she took Heath’s breath away.

ATIRA ALLOWED HER GAZE TO LINGER AS SHE looked the blond city-dweller over. The man flushed up a bit, but met her look straight on.

“Your pardon, Lady Atira.” Lanfer bowed his head slightly. “I meant no offense to you.”

“I think you did.” Atira started around the man, giving him the once-over as if he were a piece of meat.

Lanfer stiffened, but did nothing else as she walked a circle around him. “Shall I show you my teeth, Lady?”

Atira gave him a slow smile as the warriors around them chuckled. “I am no Lady, Lanfer of Xy. I am a warrior of the Plains. There is an old saying of my people: ‘You can’t know the taste of the meat until you slay the deer.’ You are pleasing,” she stepped closer to the man. “Perhaps you should come to my tent and see for yourself if I am worth chasing?”

Lanfer didn’t flinch as she’d half-expected. Instead, he studied her face, and quirked up an eyebrow. “You intrigue me, warrior. Alas, my duties press me to return to Water’s Fall. Perhaps another time?” He pressed his hand to his heart, and inclined his head.

Atira laughed, and stepped aside to allow him to mount his horse. She watched as the Xyian lord and his escort rode off.

But to Atira, the look of outrage on Heath’s face was even more satisfying.

LANFER?
SHE WAS FLIRTING WITH THAT POMPOUS, snot-nosed, stuck-up ass?

The Warlord’s voice cut through Heath’s anger. “That was about what I expected,” Keir said. “Although I thought a warrior of the Plains would be the first to strike.”

“Trust Heath to take the initiative,” Lara said, accepting a mug of kavage from Marcus. She ran her other hand through her hair with a sigh and gave Heath an amused look.

The other warriors all chuckled.

Heath ran his fingers through his own hair. “He deserved it,” he said. “Lanfer has always had a mouth on him.”

“Which you should be used to,” Lara pointed out. She paused then, looking off toward the city. “Why do you suppose he of all people was sent with that message?”

Heath shook his head. “I don’t know. But something is not right.”

Keir gave him a questioning look.

“The message was from Lara’s Council,” Heath said. “Not Lord Warren, not from my mother.”

“All the prior messages were written,” Keir said. “That is also different.”

Lara shook her head at that. “No, in an emergency they would send a spoken message. But there was nothing from Eln, or from Anna. Yet they know we are not that far away.”

“If he left just after my father collapsed, they wouldn’t have any information for us,” Heath added. “But still . . . something is off.”

“He didn’t even ask if you wanted to ride into the city with him, Heath.” Lara frowned. “Simple courtesy would require—”

“Lanfer and I have never seen eye to eye.” Heath shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect him to make such an offer.”

“If that’s known, could that be the reason why he was sent?” Keir asked. “And why is there no word from the warriors I left to secure Xy?”

Heath shrugged again.

“Poor Anna. She must be beside herself with worry.” Lara sighed, staring into her mug. “I wanted to make a formal entrance into the city, to let the people of Xy see that I have returned with my Warlord and an heir.” She turned a troubled face to Heath. “But maybe we should just ride to the castle as quickly as we can.”

Keir’s smile flashed in the light. “We would have to ride. You just don’t move that fast, my love.”

Lara made a face at him.

“My mother may not write all that well, but she uses clerks,” Heath said slowly. “And she would have sent for me, if nothing else. Something is not right. We don’t have enough information.” He faced Keir. “I should go ahead to Water’s Fall tonight.”

“A concerned son in search of answers about his father?” Lara asked.

Heath shook his head. “Not just that. I know the castle. I can get in and out quickly without raising an alarm. I can bring back word.” He stood, brushing off his trous. “I am sure my father is well. He’s in Eln’s hands if he isn’t.”

Lara smiled. “Eln is the best.”

“I can be there and back by dawn, if not before,” Heath said. “I will find you along the road, or in camp.”

“Alone? You’d go alone? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Atira said.

“Worried about me?” Heath asked.

Atira glared at him. “What if he fails to return with the information? Another should go with him. One who is used to the city, and who knows the Xyian tongue.”

“And that would be you, eh?” Marcus growled.

“Well—” Atira said.

“Enough,” Keir growled. All conversation stopped. “Heath, the idea is a good one. We need information. Take Atira with you, for she is correct, as well. We will camp here this night and leave in the morning.”

“Those two?” Marcus snorted. “Is that the best idea?”

“It is my command,” Keir growled.

Atira bowed her head, then turned toward the horses. Heath followed.

“Heath,” Lara called.

Heath looked back at Lara.

“Bring me news, Heath,” Lara said, her eyes bright with tears.

Heath smiled with as much reassurance as he could muster. “I will, little bird.”

But the uncertainty burned in his gut as he turned to go.

LORD DURST OF XY EASED HIMSELF INTO HIS CHAIR by the fire and settled back to try to warm himself. His wife didn’t look up from her sewing, the white cloth covering her lap.

The heat helped. For a moment he almost felt healthy and strong again, but then he took a breath, and the ache was enough to remind him.

They’d brought him to these chambers in the Castle of Water’s Fall after he’d been brutally attacked by the cursed Firelander, Keir of the Cat. Brought him here and waited to see if he’d live or die. They’d given him the best of the chambers provided for members of the Council.

Durst hated every inch of its rooms.

He’d fought for his life even as the whore had forced the Council to see her crowned Queen. She’d tossed her crown in the Seneschal’s lap and chased after the Warlord like a two-copper whore, bare of foot, with her hair down.

Shameless bitch.

Oh yes, the best chambers. And Master Healer Eln had labored on his behalf. He’d lived, despite the unprovoked and unwarranted assault on his person. Oh, he’d survived, but he’d never regain his strength, never regain all that he’d lost.

Othur had extended the courtesy of the chambers for as long as Durst wished to remain in Water’s Fall.

Durst curled his lip in a silent snarl, then caught himself. “Wine, my dear.”

Beatrice put her sewing aside and rose without a word. She walked slowly to one of the side tables and poured a goblet for him.

Durst sighed as he watched her soft steps. Beatrice was a ghost of herself since their sons had died. The eldest in the war with the Firelanders, then Degnan’s death in a foolish attempt to—

Durst’s throat closed as he fought off his grief.

Beatrice came to his side, her soft scent filling the air. She handed him his cup, then settled back down, arranging the white cloth in her lap as she returned to her work.

A knock at the door saved Durst from his tears. “Come,” he called out, his voice cracking. He took a sip of wine to ease his throat.

Deacon Browdus entered, followed by Lanfer.

Lord Durst used the cup to hide his distaste. Browdus looked his usual oily self, dressed in his clerical robes. Lanfer wore his fancy doublet and trous, but his face—

“Idiot.” Durst’s rage surged up, replacing his sorrow. “You were supposed to deliver the message, not get into a fight.”

“I did deliver the message,” Lanfer said, coming to stand by the fire. His nose was red and swollen, still crusted with blood. The bruises were starting to come out. His doublet had dried blood on it.

Beatrice lifted her head and watched him, easing the white material away from Lanfer.